


Stray

by magebird



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Paternal Reyes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magebird/pseuds/magebird
Summary: McCree's first few months with Blackwatch and the bleeding heart commander who looks after him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like Reyes acting like a dad.

They dragged him out of the rubble still fighting despite the shrapnel in his gut, and Gabriel Reyes saw the boy they'd been tracking for the first time. Jesse McCree, Deadlock's golden child. Even though Reyes had known the kid was a teenager, he looked so young. Even the stubble on his chin grew in patchy, his cheeks spotted with a few pimples and his lip bleeding where something had smacked him in the face. 

"Target secured, sir!" One of Reyes' soldiers snapped restraints onto McCree's wrists as he struggled weakly. "I recommend a tranq for the ride back."

Reyes looked at McCree for a long moment. The boy was panting, coated in dust and blood. He would just do more damage to himself if he was left conscious. 

"Agreed," Reyes said, giving their medic a nod. A moment later, McCree was snarling at the man as he approached with a needle. It only took a moment-- he was used to resistant patients-- then McCree slumped to the ground. "Load him up," Reyes said. "Let's move out."

* * *

There was plenty of space in the prison infirmary and McCree was locked in his own room after surgery. It seemed safe enough to allow him free range of the small space. Without a weapon, a sharpshooter wasn't much danger to anyone, and nothing in his psych profile hinted that he might do damage to himself. 

The first few days McCree mostly remained in bed. He ate the food that was brought in three times a day and dragged himself to and from the toilet, but Reyes figured that letting him stew for a bit would probably be better than trying to take advantage of his drugged up state. Dr. Ziegler had prescribed pain medication that wouldn't leave him too foggy, but Reyes wasn't aiming to make an enemy of him by charging in too soon. 

Her nanites worked wonders in speeding the healing process, even after the intensity of the surgery to remove the shards of stone and metal that had pierced him. If McCree was aware that he'd been given the best medical care there was, he didn't show it, though his face remained stony most of the time, revealing nothing. 

The tenth day after McCree arrived, Reyes took in his tray for breakfast. McCree didn't appear to recognize him, but he certainly realized that whoever he was, he was different from the scrubs-clad nurses who'd been tending to him so far. 

Reyes hooked a chair with his ankle, dragging it over to the side of the bed, and set the tray down on the table beside it. McCree's eyes flicked to the food, then back to Reyes. 

"Hungry?" Reyes asked. The meal was far better than the simple fare McCree had been getting thus far. The wide plate was covered with a steaming omelet stuffed with cheese, ham, and bell peppers. They hadn't been starving him, but there was only so much plain yogurt and buttered toast a man could take before literally anything else started looking like a feast.

"Why?" McCree asked. He hadn't spoken since he'd arrived and his voice sounded rusty. Reyes noticed that the nanites seemed to have cleared his acne as well as mend his split lip in no time at all. 

"Because if I have to watch you choke down another cup of cottage cheese, I'm going to hurl." Reyes sank into his chair, sitting backwards straddling it. McCree watched him from the bed, wariness written all over his face. Shifting, Reyes reached into a pocket and pulled out a half-empty bottle of red sauce. "Here. It's just Tabasco but it's better than nothing."

McCree didn't extend his hand for it. "This good cop schtick is bull."

Reyes sighed, setting the bottle of hot sauce beside the plate. "That's fair. But, the way I see it you're running out of options fast. You're healing up quick and as soon as you get out of here, it's a one-way trip to a maximum security prison. Lockdown, probably for the rest of your life. And you're, what? Sixteen?"

Reyes knew the answer, but he wanted to see if McCree would correct him. He didn't, just staring at Reyes flatly. 

"Other option is playing my game. You join my organization, we train you up, and you fight for my team from now on."

McCree scoffed, looking away sharply. "I'm not joining Overwatch. Y'all are a bunch of idealistic fucks with--"

"Oh no. Don't get me wrong-- Overwatch is an impractical group of ivory-tower romantics. They sign my paychecks, but they're not my team." Reyes sat up slightly, rolling his shoulders. "My team does the dirty work."

McCree's glance had a little more sharpness than before, then his hand darted out to grab the fork next to the omelet plate. He sawed off a corner with the side, then shoved it in his mouth. His wrists were bony despite his broad shoulders, like he'd never quite had enough meat on his body to fill out his frame. 

"Fine. Talk. But don't expect it to mean shit to me, I'm just bored." McCree spoke around the mouthful, already cutting a second piece. His other hand went for the hot sauce, and Reyes felt the smallest smile twitch his lips.

* * *

"This is too fuckin' big," McCree complained from around the corner of the supply room. Reyes was sitting on a box, one leg crossed over his knee, and he glanced up from his phone, rolling his eyes. "Gonna look like I'm swimming in it!"

"It's not supposed to show off your curves," Reyes replied, standing up and sticking his head around the corner. McCree was standing in his Blackwatch uniform, frowning darkly at the cracked mirror against one wall. The combat uniform was supposed to fit loosely, but this was still a bit oversized. It practically hung off his thin shoulder. Reyes hid a smirk. "Alright, maybe it is a little big."

"Told you." McCree reached behind himself, gathering the slack at the small of his back until the uniform top was pulled tight. 

"What are you doing? It's a uniform, not a catsuit." Reyes turned to the boxes to one side, rummaging around until he found a shirt a few sizes smaller. "Here."

McCree dragged his too-large shirt off over his head, tossing it back into its box, and took the new one. His stomach was still mottled with scars from the shrapnel, but they were pink and healing. Reyes wondered if he even know how lucky he'd been. With Angela's nanites in his system, there wouldn't be much he couldn't survive in the future. 

The smaller shirt fit better, but Reyes still noticed how disproportionately hollow McCree's cheeks seemed. He'd been eating everything in sight voraciously ever since they'd given him free run of the dining hall, but so far his body seemed to be just making up for a deficit instead of packing on the fat and muscle he was sorely lacking. 

"That'll do. How're the boots?" Reyes asked. McCree lifted a foot, rotating his ankle a few times.

"Good enough," he said, putting his leg back down. 

Reyes rolled his eyes. "Good enough ain't, McCree. You're gonna be wearing these for awhile. Do they fit or not? We got different sizes."

"They're good!" McCree said, putting his hands up defensively even as he grinned. "They're alright. Shit."

Reyes gave a little snort, knocking his hands aside and tugging his collar straight. "Take care of this outfit, kid. It's better than an orange jumpsuit."

McCree put his feet together, straightening up sharply and giving him a salute. The smirk on his face ruined the image, though, and Reyes rolled his eyes. 

"Grab a couple more in your size. Don't let me catch you out of uniform when you're on duty, got it? Then report for conditioning in the gym." Reyes gave McCree a light shove towards the boxes, already turning back towards the door. "Don't be late!"

* * *

"Sorry-- I'm sorry, shit, it's not a big deal--!"

Reyes heard McCree's voice from halfway down the hall and broke into a jog. The kid sounded desperate, pleading, and Reyes didn't trust him not to feel cornered in the small dorm room he was occupying. Dr. Ziegler was there in her pajamas, crouched beside his bed. In the hall, half a dozen recruits were standing and eavesdropping. They were all Morrison's kids and a glower from Reyes had them scurrying back behind closed doors. 

"McCree!" Reyes snapped and the boy's eyes were on him instantly, wide and terrified. There was blood dripping down from a cut in his forehead, though the reddened cloth in Angela's hand told Reyes she'd already attempted some cleanup. 

"Commander--" McCree sounded even more scared. "I don't know what happened, I just woke up like this and--"

"He had a nightmare," Dr. Ziegler interrupted, grabbing McCree by the back of the neck so she could press her cloth to the cut. "One of the others heard him shouting. When they opened the door, he was bleeding and someone fetched me."

"It wasn't a fuckin' bad dream, I-- I just rolled over and hit my head! I'm sorry, I can handle it myself--!" McCree snapped, shaking his head to try and get her off him.

"You'll let her tend to you!" Reyes said sharply, making McCree go still, brow knitted. "Angela, does he need stitches?"

The doctor shook her head. "A few butterfly bandages should suffice until the nanites can do their work. I think he hit it on the corner of the side table."

"Nanites?" McCree repeated, then hissed as Dr. Ziegler pulled the cloth away to look at his forehead. 

Reyes crossed his arms. "This isn't the first time you've had nightmares."

"I told you, it was an accident, not a bad dream!" McCree said. "I don't have nightmares!"

"You've woken up half the floor screaming three times now," Reyes said. "It took me an hour to talk Morrison out of a psych hold for you, kid, so shut the fuck up."

McCree opened his mouth, then closed it again, glancing away. Dr. Ziegler busied herself digging in her medical kit for bandages, pointedly feigning deafness. 

"What's going on?" Reyes said, stepping fully into the room and kicking the door closed behind him. "I need to know."

"You wouldn't get it," McCree said in a mumble. 

"Try me."

McCree huffed out hard through his nose. "I did a lot of shit in Deadlock. It don't always sit right."

Reyes rubbed the bridge of his nose. The poor kid wasn't even out of being a teenager, and Reyes had a file in his office that detailed why he belonged behind bars. But, Reyes could tell he'd just been too eager to please the wrong sort and too willing to set his own conscience. 

"You think I don't know about that?" Reyes asked, then sighed long and low. "Come on, Jesse. You're here because you can get past that. But you gotta trust us with it if we're gonna help."

McCree's lip jutted out a little. "You're not my shrink."

"I'm a licensed counselor, actually--" Angela started, but she fell quiet after an instant and then said, "Sorry."

Reyes let the silence stretch for a second, then said, "You're right, McCree. Your shrink has to tell you your shit don't stink. I want you to know it was fucked up and do better."

McCree's hands clenched on the bedspread. "How am I supposed to make up for it? What I've done?"

A shrug lifted Reyes' shoulders. "Maybe there's no making up for it. But while you're alive and they aren't, you live a life you can be fucking proud of from here on out. Got that?"

McCree lifted his head slightly. There was still a smear of mostly-dry blood on one side of his nose and a bruise spreading out from where Angela had put her bandage. He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

* * *

"Another lap!" Reyes shouted from the shade of the awning. The summer heat was sweltering, creeping into every crevice and drawing out sweat. In his black uniform, Reyes was roasting, but he kept his face impassive behind his sunglasses as the gaggle of trainees stumbled past him.

In deference to the heat, everyone was allowed into more casual uniforms for exercises. Every one of the trainees were in black shorts and grey tank tops, and Reyes noticed with satisfaction how much McCree had started to fill in. His frame had gone from gaunt to solid, stomach curving just a little as his body clung to every scrap of energy it could and built him out. He looked well fed for the first time since Reyes had known him. 

McCree's training was drawing to a close, though Reyes hadn't mentioned it to him yet. The boy would perform better without realizing when he was being evaluated. 

"Alright, take a break, take a break!" Reyes called out, smirking as the group stuttered to a halt, then moved towards the water coolers as one. McCree was already laughing despite the sweat plastering his hair to his face, chatting with one of the other trainees, who grinned right back. He'd made friends, Reyes knew. That was a test, too, though McCree would never know it. If he hadn't been able to integrate with the rest of the team, his place would be far from secure. 

Glancing off to the side, Reyes noticed the Amari girl watching from behind the fence. The ridiculous hat that McCree had taken to wearing was perched on her head as she balanced on the second bar up. She had latched on to McCree like a shadow, following him wherever she could, and it wasn't uncommon to see her lurking. Well, it meant McCree had one more thing binding him to the organization. Reyes wasn't going to discourage that. 

Still, it was obvious that something was different about McCree when all the other recruits were practicing with live fire and he was only allowed a dummy pistol. The training period was as much a probation as a chance to teach him, according to Morrison, and until he'd been fully vetted he had to rely on fakes to keep his skills sharp. 

Reyes crossed to the water cooler. Conversation faded as he approached, the recruits giving him slightly wary looks. He couldn't blame them-- it wasn't unheard of for him to order them into a round of push-ups without warning. 

"Ease up, I'm just here for a drink," he said, grabbing a paper cup and filling it. "You're all keeping up better than last week."

The tension around him dispersed slightly and he noticed a few faint smiles. Good. Let them have a little pride. They'd been working hard and with evals coming up they'd need all the confidence they could get.

"Commander," came a familiar drawl. Reyes turned towards McCree, lifting his cup to his lips to take a sip before nodding at him. "D'you have any plans besides conditioning today?"

Reyes lowered his cup. "You're not suggesting that you don't need it, are you, McCree?"

"Not a chance, sir!" McCree grinned, his whole demeanor casual. "But me'n'Lombardo found a soccer ball in the shed and I was wondering if you'd count a few rounds of that towards our training today."

The corner of Reyes' mouth twitched up. He shouldn't have let McCree see him reading that fútbol magazine.

"Fine," he said, seeing grins blossom into being around him. "But the losing team does planks until lunch. Lombardo, McCree, you're captains. Pick your teams."

As they descended into friendly chaos arguing over who would be on which side and what would count as a goal, Reyes finished his water and tossed the cup off towards the garbage bag. The kids could play, it wouldn't do any harm. Glancing over towards the Amari girl, Reyes gestured for her to hop the fence, hiding a smile as she went tearing straight for McCree.

* * *

Reyes kept the volume low on the TV as he watched the Spanish-language news channel in the common room. He was alone for the time being but the walls were thin and dorms bordered the common room on all sides. The subtitles were on, but there was something nice about hearing the familiar cadence of his mother tongue, even if it was so dim he could barely pick out the words. 

The sound of someone coming through the door made Reyes straighten from where he'd been lounging on the sofa and he saw McCree standing in the doorway. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was clad in just a pair of sweatpants with the Overwatch logo on the thigh.

"Oh," he said, stopping short. "I didn't know anyone else was in here."

"It's fine," Reyes said. "You can come in."

McCree hesitated, then padded into the room on bare feet. He looked apprehensive and moved to the armchair farthest from where Reyes was sitting. 

"Couldn't sleep?" Reyes asked. McCree gave a little shake of his head. "You should talk to the doctor about it."

"Angie doesn't need more whining from me," McCree said, hunching forward in his seat. 

"It's her job to help," Reyes said. When McCree didn't respond, he turned his attention back to the TV. "You speak Spanish, right?"

"A little," McCree said. "Enough to know what you're calling Morrison under your breath."

Reyes chuckled. "I'll have to be more careful about that."

"It's okay. He kind of is a--" McCree stopped, smiling faintly. "Never mind."

Grabbing the remote, Reyes clicked up the volume a few notches as the news transferred to a story about some minor earthquake in South America. McCree glanced up at the screen, relaxing by degrees as the newscaster droned on. 

"You're good with Amari's kid," Reyes said after a few minutes had passed and a commercial was flashing across the screen. "She likes you."

"Only cause I pay attention to her. She's just bored," McCree said with a little shrug. "If there were any other kids her age, she wouldn't hang around me so much."

Reyes shook his head, but didn't argue. 

After several seconds, McCree went on. "I was... I was younger than her when I found Deadlock. I'd been on my own for awhile before that. They thought it was hilarious to put a gun in my hand and teach me to shoot. I figured if they were gonna do it, I might as well figure out how to be good."

Reyes had known the basics of how McCree had come to join the gang. A street kid, orphaned and then picked up by the first strong personality who swept by.

"I shot a lot of rabbits while I was practicing, some coyotes," McCree went on. "Didn't shoot people til they told me to."

A pang of sympathy made Reyes frown. "How old were you?"

"Dunno. Twelve?" McCree gave a shrug. "Wasn't keepin' track of time much." He clenched his jaw for a second. "Fareeha's that age."

"She's got people looking after her," Reyes said. "You didn't. It wasn't your fault."

"I could have said no, though."

"And then what? You were doing what you could for food and a place to sleep. You were a child."

McCree's mouth tightened. "Wouldn't'a stopped me from being thrown in prison. They'd sure as hell think it was my fault."

"You aren't in prison, though," Reyes said. "You're the one protecting the kids now."

That got McCree quiet for a long moment, then he curled in a little closer on himself. "I guess."

Reyes crossed his arms, sitting back on the couch. The news was covering some feel-good story about a stray puppy being adopted by a retired police dog. 

"You've got a second chance, Jesse," Reyes said. "Nobody comes here without a history."

"Gonna tell me your sob story, then?" McCree asked, raising his head. 

Reyes snorted. "Not a fuckin' chance, kid."

The smallest possible smile flickered briefly across McCree's face. He curled into his chair a little more, resting his head against the padded back and looking towards the TV. 

The silence spread between them, settling in comfortably, and Reyes turned back to the news. When the hour finally wrapped up, he looked over to see McCree dozing in his chair, finally relaxed.

Rolling his eyes, Reyes got up to grab a big old blanket from off the couch, tossing it over him. The kid would wake up with a sore neck, most likely, but at least Reyes could do that much. He turned off the TV, then headed out into the hall, flicking the light switch down as he left.


End file.
